


because i know no other way

by thetruthmayvary



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - High School, Inspired by Poetry, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-07
Updated: 2012-11-07
Packaged: 2017-11-18 04:33:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/556942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thetruthmayvary/pseuds/thetruthmayvary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry has to read a poem in front of the class, and it happens to be a love poem, and Louis happens to be a part of his audience.</p>
            </blockquote>





	because i know no other way

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Polski available: [Because I Know No Other Way](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3237680) by [careforlouis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/careforlouis/pseuds/careforlouis)



Sleepy and moody, his hair a mess and clothes all crumpled, Harry enters the school bus. His eyes immediately roam through the pack of students, looking for four familiar mops of hair. 

He notices three of them and concludes that the feathery, caramel coloured one, the one he wants to see the most, is probably still lying in the comfort of its owner’s bed -  Louis has never exactly been known for his punctuality.

He approaches his friends and settles in the seat next to Zayn, behind Liam and Niall. Zayn, just like him, doesn't handle waking up early easily, so after greeting each other, the two of them don't talk too much - they just yawn a lot and grumpily murmur responses to Niall and Liam’s questions.

Their first class of the day's Chemistry, and Harry (alongside the rest of the class) groans in protest when their teacher, Mrs Klatchen announces a surprise quiz to see how well they understood last week’s lesson.

Harry gives up any hope of getting a passing grade after reading through the first two questions, so he settles for coloring the spaces between the letters instead. When Niall, who's sitting next to him, sees what he's doing, he gives him a quick thumps up and laughs quite loudly, which causes Mrs Klatchen to shoot him one of her deathly warning looks.

Niall pulls a serious face, straightening up in his chair and goes back to scrunching his face in an attempt to recall some of the answers.

When they finish the quiz, they endure 30 immensely boring minutes of old Mrs Klatchen’s lecture. After hearing the door bell, all four of them storm out of the classroom at an unbelievable speed, aiming for their lockers. 

“Hey, guys,” Louis, who's leening against the wall, greets. “Had fun at Chemistry?”

“Tons,” Zayn answeres and aims his frustration at his locker, opening it with such force that few of the passing students shoot him questioning looks.

“We had a quiz,” Harry informs Louis, smiling at him despite the bad mood he's in.

“Oh no! And I missed it?” Louis exclaims sarcastically, changing his facial expression into one of bewilderment.

“You’re a prick,” Harry says and punches him in the shoulder, not even surprised anymore at the sensation that runs through him at that - less than a second lasting - contact. 

“I love you, too,” Louis responds and Harry almost gasps at those words (even though he's perfectly aware of the fact that they're said as a joke). Luckily, Louis doesn't notice a thing because at that moment he turns to Liam to ask him about the soccer practice they're supposed to go to after school, but Niall offeres him a knowing smile, one that makes Harry conclude that he needs to work on his acting skills. 

Their next class is History, and it wouldn’t even be so boring (the Industrian revolution's an interesting enough of a topic) if it wasn’t for their teacher’s monotonic voice which, they all swear, can put you to sleep faster than a sleeping pill. Luckily, Louis' there now, and having gotten an extra hour of sleep that morning, he's awake enough to keep the rest of them in that same state.  

After History comes English, which is Harry’s favourite (and not _just_ because Miss Lindon, their English teacher, is one of the few decent members of the teacher staff), so he actually manages to enter the classroom with a smile plastered across his face. 

Louis sits right besides him in the right corner of the room and Harry laughs when he makes an entire show out of getting his book out - he pretends it's at least twenty times heavier than it actually is, so he strains himself and gasps for air while pulling it out of his backpack and setting it on the desk in front him. Harry doesn't even know why he's laughing, it's not even funny- obviously he just can't  _not_  find anything the older boy does amusing and astounding.       

When Miss Lindon comes in, wearing a flowery sun dress even though it's middle of October, she announces in her bubbly voice that today they’re going to be reading some Latin-American poetry.

She tells them to turn to page 94, and when Harry does so, he sees that the poem printed there's named  _I do not love you…_

“Why write a poem about them then?” Harry whisperes to Louis, who has just found the page too and managed to have enough look at it to understand Harry’s comment.

He chuckles and whispers back “Well, I guess there were too many poems named  _I love you_ , and the guy just wanted to be original.”

Harry wants to nod in agreement and do a  _seems legit_  face, but he hears a bubbly voice calling his name.

“Harry,” Miss Lindon says, “Would you mind coming to the front and reading this sonnet for us?”

Harry thinks that saying he would mind that a lot isn’t really an acceptable answer (despite the fact that their teacher's smiling at him), so he slowly gets up, takes his book and walks to the front of the class. He hates being in the spotlight, having the eyes of all the students directed at him, and he knows his voice is going to quiver before he even begins reading.

“I do not love you… by Pablo Neruda” he starts, and then spares a glance at the class. When he sees all four of his best friends smiling encouragingly at him, he continues, starting on the actual poem.

“ _I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,_

_or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.”_

Harry’s low, deep voice gives Neruda’s words a special appeal, and the students who were up till now watching him either as an encouragement, because they feel sorry for him or because they just find amusement in his bad luck, are now paying attention for completely different reasons.

“ _I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,_

_in secret, between the shadow and the soul.”_

Harry looks up as soon a he reads those verses. He aims his glaze directly at Louis, whose smile disappeares as he catches Harry’s eyes, and is replaced with a contemplating expression that makes his eyes shine in wonder.

_“I love you as the plant that never blooms_

_but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;_

_thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,_

_risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.”_

He still doesn't tear his eyes away from Louis’, with the exception of few quick glances at his book to take a look at the words he needs to pronounce.

Louis' staring back at him, and the other three lads from their little group are now sparing glances in between the two of them, all of them wearing that knowing look Niall was sporting earlier at the lockers.

_“I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where_

_I love you straightforwardly, without complexities and pride_

_So I love you ‘cause I know no other way”_

Harry’s eyes get all glassy as he recites, which make them appear even bigger and brighter than usual, and his voice breaks a little at the end of those lines. The very few people that weren’t already looking at him intently, now raise their heads as well.

Harry's still staring directly at Louis’ blue orbs, like the two of them are the only ones in the classroom, the only ones in the entire world, and like there couldn’t possibly exist anyone else he would ever say those words to.

He takes a longer pause that's necessary, and when he finally looks back down at his book, he does it reluctantly, like tearing his green eyes away from those deep blue ones causes him physical pain.

“ _than this: where I do not exist, nor you_

_So close that the hand on your chest is my hand_

_So close that your eyes close as I fall asleep”_

When he finishes, Harry closes his eyes for a moment, like he actually _is_  going to fall asleep, and when he opens them he looks at Louis ones more, fearfully this time, like he seeks his approval - not so much for the way he read the poem, but for  _who_  he read it  _to_.

When he sees that Louis’ expression's soft, his eyes filled with understanding that kept pouring in as Harry progressed through the poem, and with something else, something Harry can’t quite place, but has a general idea of what it could be, he relaxes a great deal.

The class stays unusually silent for a minute, until Miss Lindon clears her throat loudly and smiles.

“Thank you, Harry,” she says, “that was…very nice.”

Harry turns his head towards her rapidly, like he's wildly surprised to find her standing there besides him.

“What do you think this poem is about?” her bubbly voice continues.

“Love” Harry says simply.

Most of the students laugh at that, one of them even calls out “Thank you, Mr. Obvious”, but the expressions of the four boys in the corner remain unchanged.

Miss Lindon doesn't laugh either, she just keeps smiling and looking at Harry, so he concludes that she's expecting him to elaborate.

“I think the author talks about a simple love, simple but completely consuming. He can’t openly show this love, but then again, he cannot _not_ show it, because it’s a part of him, it’s what makes him whole. He doesn’t know how or when he started loving this person, because it feels like he loved them forever.” Harry's now determinately not looking at the right corner - he thinks he exposed his emotions enough for the day, so instead, he keeps his eyes focused on the book that's still in his hands. “I think,” he continues, “that for the author, it would be impossible  _not_  to love this person -it would feel like _not_ breathing, because it seems just as natural. Just as...right."

“Thank you," Miss Lindon says again. "That was nicely phrased," she comments sincerely. "You can go back to your seat now.”

Harry sighs with relief and lets his feet carry him back to his friends. He can feel Louis’ eyes boring into his side before he even turns to look at him.

“I hate poetry,” Louis whisperes, and for a moment Harry thinks that he read his reactions completely wrong earlier, and he feels fear starting to paralyze him before the older boy adds “but that poem was fucking beautiful.”

Harry smiles and Louis grins back before he takes Harry's hand under the table and starts to draw shapes on the warm skin of his palm.

 _Now_ , Harry could be wrong, seeing how Louis’ touch makes his heart beat rapidly and turns his mind into a blurred mess, but he's pretty sure that the shapes he's drawing are letters, and that together those letters form three simple words:  _Love you, too_.

And this time, Harry knows they're not a joke.


End file.
